


Moments

by cebronne



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cebronne/pseuds/cebronne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of BBC's Sherlock, focusing on the relationship between Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty, as well as Seb's friendship with Mycroft Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mycroft's Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic and has already been cross posted to FF.net. It is a work in progress, and I will let you know right off the bat, I have a horrible time updating with any sense of regularity. I try not to go more than three weeks without updating, with the goal being updating once a week.... anyway thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy. Shout out to my wonderful beta: thischarmingpsycopath you should really check out her work on ff.net if you get the chance

Mycroft,

Well my friend, if you're reading this then I am dead. I have left instructions that if events do not go according to plan then you should receive this letter and the enclosed flash drive. I suppose you could consider this my last will and testament, so to speak. With that in mind I guess I should just go ahead and confess, I have always loved you. Yes I can hear you now blah blah blah sentiment blah blah blah... and yet that doesn't change the fact that I .....can't keep up this charade.... oh how I wish I could see your face. I'd apologize but I wouldn't mean it, I truly enjoy tweaking your nose.

However in all seriousness, the flash drive does contain the debriefing reports from my latest assignment, as well as some new found intelligence that I thought you might be interested in. I'll give you the highlights seeing as how much you dislike reading my reports:

1\. James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran are no more.

2\. I've dug up the roots of Moriarty's network. You might remind Sherlock next time that cutting the branches only prunes the tree, it won't kill it.

3.Most importantly, I'm retiring. Yes, Mycroft, Retiring. Don't bother sending anyone looking for me... they won't be returning if you do. I'm confident between the two Holmes brothers you will manage to deduce why I've chosen now to retire. With that said please take care of yourself.

Give my best to Sherlock, John, and Mary.

Sandrine


	2. The Sniper and the Criminal

The sniper's needs were simple really. An empty rooftop. A bolt action Remington M24 loaded with .300 magnum cartridges. Oh, and a target. Nothing made Sebastian Moran happier.

Of course it wasn't really the killing that made the sniper happy. It was the chase. Finding and tracking down an elusive target made Sebastian feel alive.

But killing; killing was something to be done in the blank white static-filled room of Sebastian's mind. Where the mess of it couldn't touch the sniper.

It had taken only a few short months in the sniper profession for Sebastian to realize the necessity of the static emptiness. The room kept the assassin free from the emotional tangle killing wrought within. The job just couldn't be done when you were an emotional mess.

And so... when the chase was done, when the hunter flushed out the prey; Sebastian entered that corner room of white. Click. Fwiip. One more name to add to the list.

* * *

James Moriarty stood with Kontar Gul, an Afghani opium dealer and two of his men. They were currently negotiating for Jim's assistance in dealing with his Burman counterpart. Or rather James was dictating the terms of said assistance and Kontar was nodding silently in agreement.

"Oh and do make sure that my money is wired into the account I've given you by the end of today. It won't be pleasant for you if its not" smirked James, his lilt barely noticeable. "Then again, it has been Boring recently... I could use some entertainment." At this Kontar visibly paled.

"I assure you, you'll have your money within the hour." Kontar ground out, right before a rose of blood blossomed upon his breast. With a grunt he slumped to the floor of the warehouse followed quickly by his henchmen, each sporting a similar circle of crimson.

James looked upon the growing pool of blood and growled in anger. "Weeks of planning rendered useless" He muttered to himself. "Somebody's going to pay." he finished in singsong voice. Pulling out his cell, he quickly dialed. "Kontar is dead. Someone has just cost me several hundred thousand pounds. I want to know who. FIND them."

Barely glancing at his former client, James exited the warehouse. Planning his next move with a whistle and a smile on his lips. At the very least it seemed as if he wasn't going to be bored for a while.

* * *


	3. An Official Mess

Sandrine Dumorte was lounging around Mycroft Holmes's office. Drinking a cup of tea as she waited for the man himself to turn up. Idly she wondered what the hell was taking him so long. Mycroft knew better than to leave her cooling her heels. She hated to be left with nothing to keep her occupied. Knowing Mycroft, the man was probably taking his time just to irritate her. "Well," she thought "two can play at that game." Getting up, Sandrine proceeded to spend a very enjoyable hour rearranging Mycroft's possessions.

Dusting off her hands, Sandrine looked around the room in satisfaction. "Let that perfectionistic personality of his deal with this mess." she laughed to herself.

And what a mess it was. The bookshelves had their contents strewn haphazardly across the floor. The desk drawers were taken from their home and emptied also before being stacked against the far wall, creating a rough pyramid. The pens, papers and other paraphernalia created an overflowing mountain on the seat of the swivel desk chair which now rested in the center of the room. Only the filing cabinets alone made it out unscathed. Picking their locks was not worth the effort in Sandrine's mind for what was only a minor prank.

Downing the last of her tea, Sandrine turned towards the sound of the door handle being turned, her hand automatically going to the small of her back where her gun resided.

Mycroft stepped into his office with a look of disdain for the disorder found there. "It is just me. Unless you were planning on shooting me, might I suggest you put that away?" He questioned with a pointed look at the Firestar 9 mm that was aimed for his head.

Shaking her head Sandrine holstered her weapon. "I'd apologize, but I don't see any reason to be sorry. Being quick on the draw is what keeps me alive most days."

"Anyway Mikey, how about we discuss why I'm here?"

"How many times must we go over this? Mycroft. Mycroft, not Mikey. And as for the reason I asked you here, I need you to debrief me on the status of your current assignment. Since you refuse to turn in concise reports at regular intervals, calling you here seems to be the only semi-reliable way to get any useful information from you." Mycroft answered her with a huff.

"Aww. If I didn't know better I'd say you were worried about little ole me. Isn't that sweet? I didn't realize you cared that much Mikey." Sandrine teased Mycroft with a little laugh. "Anyway, I did send in a report, what was it two weeks ago?" she asked knowing full well it had been at least six months since she last filed a physical report. After all, why waste valuable time writing when she could just tell Mycroft?

"Seven and half months actually. And even then I wouldn't call it a report. It was completely incomprehensible. It consisted of nothing more than.."

"Written in code" Sandrine interjected with a barely contained smile.

"...Mikey loves Rinee. In multiple languages. Repeatedly." Mycroft finished."Pray tell. How was that code?"

"Still haven't figured it out yet? I'd wager that's driving you mad isn't it?" Sandrine taunted lightly. "Fine." she sighed, failing to get a rise out of him. "I guess I've held it over your head long enough. Just look at the spaces and punctuation. It's morse code. Double space between words for long. Single space for short. Period indicates end of sequence. For instance; double double double period equals S. Simple as that really."

"If I had to guess, I'd say you only overlooked it because you were flustered. Gods forbid anyone think you suffered from sentiment." she said with an over exaggerated shudder at the word sentiment.

Mycroft cleared his throat, "Not that this interlude hasn't been entertaining but lets steer this conversation back onto course shall we?"

With a look around her at the disheveled room, Sandrine replied "I'll let you change the subject for now Mycroft. But only if we can have a change in venue. There's no place to sit down in here."

"And who is responsible for that I wonder?" Mycroft stated dryly. "Although you do have a point." Mycroft added as he looked around himself at his office, "Where would you suggest we adjourn to?"

"I know the perfect place. Come with me love." She said as she took his hand and pulled him from the room. In her haste to leave Sandrine barely avoided colliding into Mycroft's assistant Anthea. The lovely dark haired woman, anticipating her boss's needs, stood at the ready with the duo's jackets and Mycroft's umbrella.

"Oh I'm sorry Anthea, here let me take that." Reaching for her and Mycroft's things, " I'm afraid I left the office in a bit of a mess."

"Not to worry, Miss Dumorte." Anthea said with a slight frown before turning to Mycroft, "I'll see to it that it's set to rights before your return. I've got a car waiting for you out front..."

"No need for that, where we're going is within walking distance" Sandrine interrupted before Mycroft could get it into his head about taking the car. "Besides it'll do his pompousness here some good to stretch his legs. Sitting behind a desk all day must get tiresome I would imagine." And with that she promptly started tugging Mycroft towards the exit.


	4. A New Assignment

Mycroft sat in the well appointed Italian restaurant silently fuming. Ten minutes into Sandrine's little "jaunt" it had started raining. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't have proven a problem, London weather being what it was Mycroft always carried an umbrella. But thanks to the insufferable woman currently sitting across from him, his umbrella was now in the possession of a young tourist couple from America. Meaning he was now soaked. A state he found rather untenable.

And just to add insult to injury, the bloody woman had the gall to be laughing at him. "Had you just let us take the car, we wouldn't currently be in this predicament" he told her, letting some of his ire show. "Really Mikey, lighten up. It was a bit of fun. And the state of your clothes is hardly worth getting worked up over." Sandrine replied, smiling brightly. "Besides, we'll be dry by the time we leave. Our coats took the brunt of the storm."

Mycroft debated whether it would be worth the satisfaction of starting an argument, or if he should just table the topic for now, after all he did have a more pressing matter to discuss with Sandrine. Her idea of fun aside, he couldn't afford to risk her leaving. And leave she would. Damn woman never admitted she was in the wrong, she would simply stop arguing and leave. An irritating habit to say the least.

Fortunately, the matter was decided for him as the waiter came up to take their orders and fill their drinks. Handing over their menus Mycroft proceeded to order for both of them. An order of shrimp alfredo for himself and the chicken parmesan for her.

Thanking the man as he walked away, he turned his attention back to Sandrine, who was shaking her head and smirking. "Are my eating habits that predictable?" she asked. "I feel like I should be offended over you ordering for me."

"I'd estimate that we have roughly twenty to thirty minutes before the waiter returns. And I'd rather not discuss the details of your next assignment whilst we're eating. So if you do decide to be offended, would you mind greatly if I asked you to wait till after our meal?" Mycroft asked with a sardonic smile.

At this Sandrine burst out laughing. Not many understood Mycroft's rather dry sense of humor, but Sandrine always managed to get the joke. Truthfully she was the only person he did joke around with.

Once her laughter subsided Mycroft proceeded to give her a brief rundown of her next objective. He marveled at the way her eyes lit up at the prospect of a new challenge. The bloody woman thrived on the dangerous situations he managed to come up with for her. It never ceased to amaze him how she could to live day to day doing what she did, yet still remain relatively carefree and blissful. He knew the job took some form of toll on most of his agents, yet Sandrine never seemed affected. He only hoped that she could keep her innocence intact. Even though innocence hardly seemed the correct word it fit nonetheless.

Shaking his head Mycroft, brushed aside that train of thought. "As always I leave the details up to you. You've never followed my directions anyway, I don't imagine this time would be any different." he finished. Just in time as well, since the waiter had now brought out their meals.

Unfolding her napkin and placing it in her lap, Sandrine took a moment to contemplate the task ahead of her. "Mycroft, you always get me the best presents." she decided with a smile.

Turning to lighter conversation, the two finished their meal. Lingering over dessert, Sandrine turned the subject to Mycroft's brother. "How's Sherlock doing by the way?"

Looking pensive for a moment "As well as can be expected I suppose. The doctors have said it's going to take a while for his body to detoxify. I can only hope that once he's on the mend, he'll find a different form of stimulation. There has to be something that can keep him occupied and away from that disgusting habit." Mycroft replied.

"Well I have a few ideas on that score. Plus, I think you'll find once Sherlock is released from rehab he's going to have to find a new drug dealer."

"Yes, I had noticed the man had turned up dead. The police have written it off as a drug deal that went wrong. Your work I take it?" Mycroft asked.

"I do what I can. Consider it a late birthday present." Sandrine answered with a shrug. Truthfully she only wished she could do more. As little as Mycroft was willing to show it, he was still hurting over the path his brother had chosen. However, she knew that Mycroft wouldn't take lightly to her "interference" as he liked to call it. Due to his addiction combined with the nature of her work, Sandrine had never ben afforded the opportunity of meeting Mycroft's younger sibling. However, if she had her way about it she would have already threatened the man into toeing the line. But ultimately that would upset Mycroft even further, and Sandrine had no wish to make things worse for him. So she settled for taking out Sherlock's main source.

As their server took away the remnants of their Tiramisu and brought their check, Sandrine looked somberly at Mycroft, "You do realize though, this will be the last I see of you for a long while? We're going to have to keep communications to the bare minimum as well. How are you ever going to survive without me?"

"I have the utmost confidence I'll be able to handle life without you." Mycroft stated as he rose . "I also get the feeling that you'll manage to find ways to make my existence miserable as always, without actually being there."

"That sounds like a challenge Mycroft." Sandrine pulled on her coat, "Now I'm forced to think of something so you won't miss me too terribly." Giving Mycroft a light hug he didn't return, she kissed his cheek " Take care of yourself and I'll check in when I can." With no more to say, she walked out of the restaurant and into the busy streets of London.


End file.
